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It’s why I can’t resist coming out to the Hope Crest Boxcar Race, an event held every September that the townspeople turn out in droves for. Orange and red leaves have already begun marking the trees, the fall-colored Hope Crest banners hang from the faux gas lamp streetlights, and all the women hug cream-colored sweaters around their shoulders.
This gathering, even if none of these people acknowledge I’m a part of them, is like a balm to my wounded soul. Yesterday morning, I spread Dad’s ashes in the forest by his house, giving him back to the land he seemed to love more than most people in his life. The private commemoration had been more emotional than I thought it would be, and I spent a good half an hour kneeling in the dirt with tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Remember, folks, you can grab kettle corn from Micken’s Candy Shop, and be sure to stop in the thrift store to buy raffle tickets. The race will start in ten minutes, so get a spot and watch because we have a great lineup this year,” the announcer on the megaphone informs the street as I walk past the setup area for the cars at the top of the hill. Newton Street starts on a slope, with the high school at the top and all the shops lining the dip into the valley. At the other end is the police station and municipal building before the road curves up again, where the combination elementary and middle school bookends the avenue.
Each child is polishing their boxcar with a parent next to them, all the little racers looking adorable and nervous. For the most part, save the guy coaching his son to take other racers out, the parents seem encouraging and happy. They’re trying to make this a fun, positive experience.
A pinch goes through the muscles in my heart, like just seeing that tweaked it. I never had that kind of emotional support. Sure, I grew up with a nice life, wealthy when it came to living with my mom half the time. We had a lot, but love and unconditional support weren’t one of them. My parents were cold, and my mother still is, even if she does check in on how my life is going. I’m not sure if it’s because they were unsuited from the start, but my parent’s marriage affected how they raised a child, and it was never to my benefit.
Being back in the place where they fell apart, because my mom lived in the rundown ranch for years before leaving Dad, is both strange and a self-examination process.
When I park my feet in a standing spot outside of a crystal and candle store, I roll my neck to hopefully crack away some of the tension. The last three days have been filled with hauling old junk out to the industrial dumpster I rented that now sits in Dad’s driveway.
Yes, I have a lot of money. Yes, I make the salary of a Hollywood actress in her prime.
But hiring a crew to do this, handlers to execute his will, and outside companies to come in and take care of it all for me, leads to press. Someone would surely write up how my dad died, who is cleaning out his house, and what stuff came out of it. That would lead to fans scouring the garbage and pop culture experts commenting on my mental state.
If I hadn’t already walked away from that life, temporarily, I wouldn’t want to deal with that shit. But being that I haven’t signed on to a project in a year, and my agent, marketing, and PR team are up in arms about me tanking my own career, I especially don’t want to be followed or tied to Hope Crest.
Which is why I’ve been ripping away old deck planks, peeling wallpaper, and emptying out rancid cabinets by myself. I’m worked to the bone, but it feels good. I haven’t exercised like this in years, and hundred-dollar-a-session Pilates doesn’t have shit on real labor.
“You’re Cassandra Mauer!” A teenage girl points at me from just feet away.
Even with eight years in Hollywood, it seems extremely strange to be spotted in Hope Crest. When I lived here, people avoided even making eye contact with me, much less shouting out my name.
“I am.” I smile at her as she and her group of friends walk up to me. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Liza, and this is Megan and Johanna. Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re in our town.Steel Hearts,like, made me who I am today.”
She can’t be more than seventeen, which makes me chuckle at her choice of words, but I appreciate it, nonetheless.
Steel Heartswas the first movie I ever booked, and it ended up being my breakout role. I had no idea what I was doing when I walked into that audition in Philly—other than that, I loved my private school theater program and didn’t want to go to college. I was eighteen, had zero experience besides amateur plays, and knew that more school wasn’t for me. I didn’t have an agent or a manager, and my headshot had been one I pulled from my senior pictures. But I connected with the script so much that I felt this intense need to go out for the lead female role.
And I got it.
The day the casting director called me, I thought it was a practical joke. I’d made him say it at least five times that they were offering the role of Everly tome.
Everly, the character I played, was a teen in an abusive relationship in a small town, and when her boyfriend fell ill and needed a kidney transplant, she was a match. In the end, she decides to have the operation to save his life, while also leaving him and the power he held over her. It was a beautiful, heartbreaking view of the human spirit, what we can endure, and how people find their worth even after such dark times.
Playing that role opened my eyes; it showed me exactly what I wanted to do with my life. It also healed me, in a way, from my childhood, where I felt like a prisoner trapped between two warring sides. That was back before all the rest of the bullshit that came with acting in a huge movie. I was unknown, and the only thing people cared about was my acting. The movie received rave reviews, and it had nothing to do with who I was dating or what charities I was donating to, or where I lived in terms of this celebrity or that.
Now? Now I can’t pick a movie role without every strand of my hair being picked over with what this means for my career, personal life, or the studio producing the flick. It’s maddening. I wanted to play Everly because the script spoke to me, and everything else that came with it only got in the way of continuing to do that.
Even with being one of the most private actresses in the business, there were still pieces of information leaked that I’d never tell the entire world about.
Which is why I’m here, trying to live privately, though I’m realizing that won’t exactly be possible. I guess I underestimated Hope Crest.
“That’s so nice to hear. I’m glad you liked the movie.” I grin as they giggle and fidget.
“Would you sign my hat? It’s the only thing I have.” Liza thrusts a pen at me.
“Sure.” I oblige, autographing a gold hat with Hope Crest Softball embroidered in navy blue.
“Thank you! Oh my gosh, I can’t wait to see what you do next. Is it true you’re dating Cole Murray?”
“Liza!” Johanna smacks her friend’s arm for being so forward.
I chuckle, shaking my head like it’s not a big deal. “I’m not, but Cole is a nice guy.”
